


the light is you

by ohhotlamb



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Alternate Universe - Neighbors, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, midorima is a hot awkward nerd, takao's apartment is crawlin with spookies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-22
Updated: 2015-06-05
Packaged: 2018-03-17 05:36:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3517394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohhotlamb/pseuds/ohhotlamb
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He lets his lips quirk up, leans closer conspiratorially and whispers, “Did someone die in my apartment? Don’t lie. I can handle it.”</p><p>The man blinks behind his large frames, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he struggles to counter something he undeniably didn’t see coming. Finally, he grits out a rough, “You are absurd.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Haunting of Takao Kazunari

Kazunari is seriously losing his shit.

He’s been accused his whole life of being overly dramatic, of blowing situations way out of proportion for the sake of a good laugh (and why wouldn’t he? Isn’t laughter a good thing?) But for once he thinks his reaction is completely sensible.

He’s crouched in his bedroom closet, blanket thrown protectively over his head, his phone lit to use as a flashlight and he’s desperately trying to tell himself that he’s hallucinating. But no, he definitely heard a thump just now. It sounded like it was coming from his kitchen. Or maybe the hallway?

But Kazunari knows that right now, he’s the only living human in his apartment. He knows, because this kind of thing has happened before. It started with little things—the pipes rattling, flickering lights, things that he could just pass off as faulty wiring in the older building.

But then he had started _seeing_ things—shadows where there shouldn’t be, figures he catches just in his peripheral vision.

Tonight is one of the nights where he had seen the figure sitting at his kitchen table as he had been chopping vegetables on the counter top. He had tried very hard not to react, and then casually left the kitchen just to run into his bedroom and camp out in the closet.

In short, Kazunari’s apartment was haunted.  With a ghost, spirit, demon, _something._ And he doesn’t know what to do.

What he does know is he didn’t think this through. He’s basically cornered himself, and it’s not like he can spend the rest of his life in his closet, rationing out the granola bar he thinks might be in his jacket pocket. There’s no water in here, and the bathroom is down the hallway. And his cellphone only had a sliver of battery left, and he’s pretty sure the charger is in his pack by the front door.

Kazunari sighs, leans back until his back hits the wall, the tops of hanging jackets and shirts brushing the top of his head. He’s really hot under the blanket—his breath is making it uncomfortably humid, and it’s stifling. But he knows that if he takes it off, he’ll only feel more vulnerable. Call it stupid, but this blanket may as well be the only shield he has to defend himself against whatever’s out there.

What did he do to deserve this? All he wanted was a nice, reasonably priced apartment to call his own. He had put a lot of work into tracking this place down, into getting everything ready for the move.  But this situation is starting to make him regret moving in the first place. He had had a completely acceptable setup sleeping at Yukio’s.  Well, besides the fact that he was sleeping on his best friend’s _couch,_ that is.

God, he misses Yukio. He was six hours away, but it felt like he was on the other side of the world. He’s the only one who’s able to tell the difference between when Kazunari laughed because something’s funny or when he laughed so he doesn’t cry instead.  He wishes his best friend was with him right now, to slap him upside the head and shout at him that he’s a complete idiot for hiding from a freakin’ _shadow_.

But he had _really_ needed a job.

It wasn’t his ideal job—he has to wear a _suit,_ and a _tie,_ and he had his own cubicle and everything. The whole situation was laughably un-Kazunari. But he got money out of it, and his mom _finally_ stopped breathing down his neck, and he didn’t feel crazy guilty for mooching off of Yukio anymore.  Yukio had told him that he could stay with him for as long as he needed to, but Kazunari just couldn’t impose anymore. Yukio had a wife now, and a little baby girl, and if Kazunari were in their shoes he sure wouldn’t have wanted to come home after a long day to see some free-loader passed out on the living room couch.

So he had done what any competent person would do: he turned to Google. He had searched ad after ad, considered everything from being a handyman to an insurance salesman.  Finally, he ended up finding a company that sold discounted, knock-off brand furniture to retail stores. The job posting had said that all he’d have to do was sit in a chair on the phone all day, and Kazunari figured that he already sits on his ass most of the time, so why not?

He had contacted the company to express his interest, and he had sent in his (kind of pathetic) resume, and to his surprise and mild horror they had actually offered him the position. Which was (kind of) great and all, except that the company was stationed in a town six hours away.

He had first called his parents to tell them the dreadful news. They had tried to sound sympathetic, but they had done a pretty poor job of pretending they weren’t overjoyed that Kazunari wasn’t going to be soiling the family name anymore.

By far the worst part had been saying goodbye to Yukio. The whole ordeal had lasted nearly an hour, most of which consisted of Yukio patting Kazunari on the back soothingly as he bawled his eyes out, Yukio’s wife watching the shameful scene sadly from the safety of the kitchen table.

Then Yukio had helped him load all of his belongings into his sad little station wagon, clapped him on the shoulder and told him to call if he ever needed anything.

And things have been, for the most part, going well if not miserably adequate. He had made a few friends at his office (no one notable), and he has daily conversations with an old lady he passes by on his walk to work (she sits out on her porch, like, literally all day) but besides that, his requirement for daily human contact is only _just_ being met, and even then it’s extremely unsatisfying not having anyone he can joke around with to his heart’s content. Sure, Yukio would smack him daily, but Kazunari knew it had come from a place of love.

It had only taken two weeks after unpacking before his completely mundane life had taken a twist towards the supernatural, and he honestly misses the easy humdrum that used to be his daily routine. The one where he _doesn’t_ feel compelled to check under his bed before sleeping, the one where he doesn’t keep a rosary underneath his pillow, the one where he doesn’t wake up a little surprised he wasn’t dragged off to the netherworld in the middle of the night. 

And even though it makes him want to give up, to run back home to Yukio with his metaphorical tail between his legs, he can’t move back just because of a little paranormal happenings! He’s put so much work, so much emotion and effort into making a new life for himself. No, he’s not going anywhere. He’s not going to be bullied into moving out by a few measly spirits. But that being said, it doesn’t mean he’s going to put up with sitting in his closet like a weenie for a second longer. He’ll figure out a way to purify or exorcise or whatever his apartment later. For now, he’s gonna need to make a break for it.

Kazunari sucks in a heavy breath, carefully eases open the closet door and peeks outside into his dark bedroom. It’s empty, completely devoid of shadow creatures but that doesn’t mean much to him, seeing as he’s pretty sure ghosts are good at that whole “walking through walls” thing.

On the count of three, he’s going to sprint for the front door. He’s not going to spare a glance towards his kitchen; he’s not going to stop to put on his shoes. After that, he’ll figure it out when he gets there. He just can’t spend another moment in this place.

_One…_

He shifts into a crouch, shimmies the blanket off his shoulders to fall to the floor, turns the light off his phone and slips it into his back pocket.

_Two…_

He opens the door a little more, peers around, head cocked and ears straining. He doesn’t hear anything from the kitchen but he only takes that for a grain of salt, because his roommate(s) have a tendency of staying deceptively quiet for long intervals.

_Three!_

Kazunari catapults himself from the closet, the door banging off the wall and a small part of him is hoping he didn’t ram a hole in the plaster but he’s already in the hallway, sliding across the smooth wood in his socks. He barrels around the corner, doesn’t even look at the kitchen for fear he’ll pass out at whatever he may see. He keeps running, dives for the front door and within half a second he’s slamming it shut behind him, lungs heaving and muscles trembling.

“Oh my god, oh my god.”

He’s gasping, pressing his back against the door and he slides down to sit on his welcome mat, hand clenching the fabric of his shirt over his heart, feeling as it thrums erratically.

He’s safe.

Kazunari breathes out deeply and closes his eyes, the tension bleeding out of him slowly. But this relief is short-lived. Because he knows his peace of mind is only temporary—the problem is still there. And it’s not like he’s going to live in a cardboard box outside his front door for the rest of his life—eventually, he’s gonna have to toughen up and get back in there.  Just not tonight.

So for the evening, he’s gonna need to figure out what to do with himself. But he doesn’t even know where to start. He obviously can’t go back in _there._ He’s not getting his skin turned inside out, not tonight, thank you very much.

Kazunari weighs his options.

He can’t call Yukio. For one, he would undoubtedly make fun of Kazunari until his dying breath.  And second, there was little he could do from so far away, and Kazunari kind of needed instant results. 

The other option was to leave his building, bare-footed and penniless (he had left his wallet inside—it was sitting on the kitchen table with his unwanted guest) to find a hotel to sleep in for the night. That’s out, for obvious reasons.

As Kazunari considers the final option, he turns with reluctance to face the door several yards from his own. Identical in every way to his own, a light cream with a heavy metal handle.  

His neighbor.

Kazunari only has one, since his apartment is the last in the row, and he’s kind of glad because it narrows down his options, making the choice easier. He’s never met the person that lives there. He’s never seen them leave, never seen them come home. They were scarily quiet and all-over very mysterious.  For all he knew, Kazunari’s neighbor could be a serial killer. Or maybe he was some weirdo who kept their dead cats in the freezer. Or even worse, what if they didn’t laugh at Kazunari’s jokes?

He hesitates, bites his lip and pulls his knees to his chest. He knows he can’t stay out here long. It’s cold, and dark, and most likely drizzling, and even though there’s an awning above the string of doors he thinks he feels moisture seeping through his socks. He sighs. It’s now or never.

Kazunari heaves himself up, tries to pull up his sagging basketball shorts, brushes his bangs away from his forehead before walking over to the door. Thankfully, his neighbor has a welcome mat as well, and he’s relieved to not be standing on cold, wet concrete anymore.  He looks down at his feet, wiggles his toes and he watches them move around in his socks. He doesn’t know how to politely ask if he can spend the night at a strangers’ house, but he’s good at winging things. He’ll just have to improvise.

He takes a deep breath, shoves his lingering fear deep down into the center of his body and summons up his most winning smile before he knocks firmly, three times, on the door.

He twiddles his thumbs as he waits, knows his neighbor is home because he can hear the dull thuds of footsteps walking around inside. He only has to wait patiently for another few seconds before the thuds get louder, and the door handle wiggles before it’s opened, albeit cautiously and only just enough for his neighbor’s face to peek through.

Kazunari has to tip his face up, eyes widening the further up they have to travel. There’s a milky expanse of slender neck, and a sharply cut jaw, and then finally he meets vivid green eyes that are narrowed with suspicion and what looks like mild irritation.

And how about that. His neighbor is actually hot. Well, once you kind of ignore the whole “complete nerd” vibe he has going on. It might have been because of his meticulously combed hair, or maybe the thickness of his glasses.  And…oh, _god._ He’s wearing a _sweater vest._ Did people actually wear those nowadays? All he was missing was a pocket protector and tape wrapped around the bridge of his glasses.  

Kazunari half wants to laugh, but remembers that he’s going to be asking for a very big favor, and needs to stay on his neighbor’s good side. Even though it looks like he’s already in enemy territory, what with those sharp eyes that seem to cut through him. But Kazunari is famous for his ability to dispel (i.e. completely ignore) tension, and he’ll be damned if he lets this guy scare him off.

He smiles sunnily, leans his shoulder into the doorframe and he doesn’t miss how the man’s frown deepens. “Howdy, neighbor! I just moved next door, but I don’t think I’ve introduced myself yet! The name’s Takao Kazunari and—“

“You’re the one that always makes a fuss so late at night.”

His voice is deep, severe with what is unmistakable irritation, and with that one scathing sentence the situation gets real awkward, real quick. Kazunari laughs, gives himself a mental high-five with how natural it sounds. This conversation is rapidly taking a nosedive to the land of no return, and if he wants a wink of sleep tonight he needs to salvage what he can.

“Ah, well, see, that’s kind of the reason—“

“What do you want from me? I’m busy.” The man snaps, closes the door a little more and Kazunari puts his hands up as if to show he means no harm.

“All right, all right. No need to be so crabby.” He says lightly, stomach dropping when he realizes that jokes aren’t going to be taken well with this guy.  

“I’m closing the door now.”

“Wait, wait, wait! Okay, you caught me. I need a favor.” Kazunari admits, lets his easygoing smile slip away into a more serious expression. His severity seems to catch the man’s attention, because his eyes narrow as he hesitates.

“What is it?” He asks cautiously, only half of his face showing now, the rest of him hidden by door.

“I just need you to answer one simple question, and I need you to be completely honest with me here.” Kazunari pauses, smiles a little to himself as a few more inches of the man’s face comes into view. Communication was all about finding a way to hook in your audience, and Kazunari was an expert fisherman.

He lets his lips quirk up, leans closer conspiratorially and whispers, “Did someone die in my apartment? Don’t lie. I can handle it.”

The man blinks behind his large frames, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he struggles to counter something he undeniably didn’t see coming. Finally, he grits out a rough, “You are absurd.”

“Was it a savage murder? Did someone mess with a Ouija board? I’m tellin’ you, those things can fuck you up. My grandma was always telling me to never play with Ouija boards.”

The man looks marginally flustered, and his voice has a hint of a plead to it as he says, “Please leave.”

Kazunri gasps, leans back suddenly and the man jumps. “Oh, shit. It was you, wasn’t it? You were using my empty apartment to use as your lair so you could speak with the undead. Tell you what. Let me crash here for the night, and we’ll call it even.”

“Are you accusing me of practicing mediumship? And wait—”  The man shakes his head, “’Crash here’? I do hope you are not implying that you wish to spend the night in my home.” He says, blinking rapidly, brows pulled low over his eyes.

“It’s the least you could do!” Kazunari says, clasps his hands in front of him as if in prayer, gazes up at the man imploringly. But it looks like there’s actually a human being on this earth besides Yukio that can resist his puppy-dog eyes, because what he gets in reply is:

“No.” And his tone rings with finality, and he moves to completely close the door and Kazunari all but shoves his foot in the doorjamb.

“Please!  I’m begging you here. There are groans coming from my bathroom, and I swear I saw someone sitting on my couch, and there was this _presence—_ like the air was suddenly freezing cold, and I couldn’t breathe, and—”  Kazunari gulps for air, panic rising in him at the mere memory and he takes a second to get his lungs working again. The man’s staring at him with deeply furrowed eyebrows, his mouth turned down.

“You actually believe there is a ghost in your home.” He says as a fact, his whole face showing now and even some of his opposite shoulder.

Kazunari threads his fingers in his hair, tugs a little and lets out a laugh. “Okay, yeah, I know it sounds crazy. But I _swear_ there’s something in my kitchen right now, and I hid in my closet for like half an hour before coming here and I just don’t know what to _do!_ I’m _scared_.” He says miserably, bites his bottom lip and looks up at the man desperately.

The man regards Kazunari coolly for another moment, at the bareness of his feet and the rumple of his clothes, and then he reaches up with one hand to shove his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

“One night,” he mumbles.

Kazunari gasps. “You for real?”

“I will not repeat myself.”

“Oh, my god. Thank you. _Thank you._ You’re friggin awesome. Holy shit. Wow.” Kazunari’s beaming, wiggling a little bit in his happiness and he rubs his hands up and down his bare arms that are prickling with goosebumps. The man grunts irately before he opens the door to its full extent and steps aside, allowing Kazunari to slip inside before he closes the door behind them.

The layout of the place is exactly like Kazunari’s apartment. The kitchen is on the immediate left, the little hallway leading to the bedroom and bathroom further down and to the right. There are, however several differences. There’s a smell in the air that Kazunari thinks may be incense, and the man seems to have taken preference of lighting the room with lamps as opposed to the overhead lighting, giving a more dim appearance. The most notable, perhaps, is the amount of pure _stuff._

Kazunari gapes, kind of feeling like he has just walked into Willy Wonka’s chocolate factory, except there is a distinct lack of edible furniture or Oompa Loompas. What there _is,_ however, is perhaps the largest spread of collectibles Kazunari’s ever seen.  Insects pinned to foam boards right next to vintage Pez candy dispensers.  Piles of stuffed animals and dolls, clear storage boxes piled neat and high, labeled strips of masking tape written with things like “office supplies” and “Eastern European commodities”.  There are shelves upon shelves of toy figurines, of license plates and antique pitchers and glass bobbles. On the far windowsill is a wide array of potted plants, ranging from little cactuses and bonsai to large potted palms. Kazunari wonders if this much stuff in one apartment would be considered obsessive hoarding, or in the very least a fire hazard. But everything seems to be meticulously organized, what with all the labels, and everything’s almost scarily clean, and Kazunari can’t smell rodent droppings or mold or anything to give sign to neglect.

Kazunari turns, knows his jaw is all but scraping the floor and stares at his neighbor. The man is still standing near the door, looking vastly uncomfortable with his arms across his chest, long fingers picking at a thread unraveled from his sweater.

“Why?” Is all Kazunari can manage, gestures broadly to the room, knows the man will understand what he’s asking.

His neighbor glances up, mouth twisted nervously. “Horoscope,” he croaks, flinches and clears his throat. “The…horoscope. Requires that I have many lucky items that I use daily.” He says quietly, looks off the side, back stiff and straight.

The horoscope? So this guy was into that astrology mumbo-jumbo? Well, Kazunari doesn’t have the right anymore to deny the existence of the mystical, so he doesn’t mention his disbelief. So he asks instead, “What’s today’s?”

The man hesitates, then murmurs, almost inaudible, “A geode.”

“A what?” Kazunari squints, thinks the word sounds familiar but his head is spinning with far too many thoughts at the moment to find it in the depths of his mind.

“A geode. It is a round rock, with a hollow center lined with crystals. Oha Asa said that Cancer’s lucky item was a geode. Therefore, I have carried it everywhere with me today.”  He pats his pocket as he says this, Kazunari seeing a notable lump in the fabric.

Kazunari nods, returns his attention to his surroundings. There are so many colors, blurring together in the dim lighting and he almost feels dizzy. “It’s….” he starts, looking around the room, struggling to think of the right word. What he settles on is: “Really amazing.”

He grins and turns to the man who has visibly stiffened (even more, if that was possible) and is watching Kazunari with owlish eyes. He blinks several times.

“You…think it’s amazing.”

Kazunari laughs. “Well, yeah! I mean it it’s also kinda really funny, and crazy nerdy, but I it’s also really cool, ya know? Like some of this stuff looks really old, and it seems to me like everything has its own spot. And, I dunno.” He shrugs, grinning. “It’s not something that I could do, for sure. I can’t even pick my clothes up off the floor.” He says, laughing, the sound dying down when the man doesn’t say anything.

Kazunari realizes that now would be a really good time to start utilizing that cool “brain-to-mouth filter” thing his mom was always bugging him about. He slaps his hand to his forehead, makes a noise of realization. “Oh yeah, and sorry for the intrusion! Almost forgot! Anyways, do—” His eyes zero in on a shelf across the room, and before he realizes it his legs are swiftly carrying him over and he’s oogling.  “Trading cards?!”

“Yes. And I would appreciate it if you didn’t touch—“

“You’ve got fucking everything! Basketball, Pokémon, Yu-Gi-Oh…oh man! This stuff was my _life_ when I was a kid! Oh!” Kazunari whirls around, eyes wide. “What’s your name, anyhow?”

The man is still standing in the exact same spot as before, but Kazunari’s words seem to melt the invisible ice from the bottom of his shoes because he’s walking towards the kitchen, shoving his glasses up his nose again and reaching for one of the cabinets.

“Midorima Shintarou.” He says, taking a clear glass from the cupboard, setting it down on the counter before reaching inside for another one.

“Midorima Shintarou.” Kazunari echoes quietly, mulls this over for a moment before he pipes up, “Okay, so it’s Shin-chan, then!”

There’s a loud noise, like two glasses being roughly clashed together. Shintarou turns slowly, looking completely scandalized.  

“Do not—“

“Yeah, that’s good! I dunno, you’ve got a very ‘Shin-chan’ vibe about you.” Kazunari nods to himself sagely. “And as for what you call me, I prefer Nari-sama. Or, ya know, anything you want really. I’m not too picky.”

Kazunari doesn’t know what it was—the discovery of Shintarou’s dirty little secret or the gut feeling that underneath the crusty layer of standoffish-ness was a shy and awkward little boy, but all of a sudden he has no qualms at all teasing Shintarou like he would Yukio. It’s flowing naturally, and he’s struggling to keep a straight face as he can feel Shintarou’s eyes burning into the side of his head.

“Takao.” 

“Hmm? Yes?”  He’s now closely examining a row of troll dolls, but his eyes keep straying to the trading cards that _he really wants to touch._

“Never call me that name again. You will address me as Midorima and nothing else.” His voice is stern but thankfully lacking the coldness of their first meeting that was—what? Less than ten minutes ago? Kazunari turns to him, grinning.

“What? You don’t think it’s a cute nickname? You should feel honored. Not everybody gets one.”

And Shintarou rolls his eyes with what is undoubtabley pure sass and Kazunari nearly squeals with delight. _What’s this?_ Did this big old nerd have a funny bone?

Shintarou walks back to the living room with two glasses of water and hands one off the Kazunari, who accepts with a sly and purposefully quiet, “Thanks, Shin-chan.” Whether Shintarou pretends not to hear him or not he doesn’t know, but then Shintarou’s knocking back his glass with several massive gulps and Kazunari’s a little transfixed with his bobbing throat. But it’s not like he’s being creepy or anything, because honestly, who could resist?  Shintarou’s certainly a looker. It would be a waste not to appreciate his beauty while the opportunity presents itself.

Shintarou pulls the empty glass from his lips with a content sigh, wipes his mouth off on the back of his wrist and looks down at Kazunari contemplatively.

“Well. I have work in the morning, and if I want to be asleep by ten I need to start getting ready for bed now.” He says, still looking thoughtful, his eyes darting from Kazunari to a spot beyond his shoulder and Kazunari shrugs.

“Okay, sure. No problem. “

Shintarou seems to debate something for a moment, before he holds his palm up to Kazunari and says, “Wait here.” Then he’s disappearing down the hallway, and before Kazunari can get bored just standing around the soft footfalls are coming back. When he re-enters the living room Kazunari can’t even see his face, it’s completely blocked by a huge wad of blankets, a pillow balanced precariously on top. Even though he obviously can’t see, Shintarou walks across the room with ease, maneuvers around the coffee table and dumps the pile onto the couch.

“This should be enough. But if you get cold, there are more in the linens closet down the hall.” He says, stares at the mound for a moment, and like he can’t resist leaving them in a messy state he throws the pillow to the end of the couch and begins fanning out the blankets to lie across neatly.

“I—oh, wow. Shin-chan, thank you! I really owe you one!”  Kazunari says happily, sets his glass of water down on the coffee table (he makes sure to use a coaster—he’s no animal) and throws himself on the couch, the air trapped under the blankets puffing out with a soft _whoosh_ and Shintarou jumps back in surprise. Kazunari wriggles, whining happy in the back of his throat and he flips onto his back, smiles up at Shintarou sunnily.

“Really, Shin-chan. Lemme know what I can do for you sometime, and I’ll do it. No questions asked.”  He says, trying to sound sincere (because he _is,_ but sometimes people take his smile to be deceptive) and Shintarou squints down at him before looking away.

“I’ll keep that in mind. But,” he turns back, grave as can be and Kazunari holds his breath, “I fully expect you to take care of your little problem. This is a one-time situation. Remember that.”

Kazunari nods enthusiastically, crosses a little ‘X’ over his chest with his index finger. “Cross my heart and hope to die. I’ll hire a medium or priest or something. I’ll deal with it tomorrow.”

Seeming satisfied, Shintarou nods, the flat line of his mouth seeming to relax more and he heads for the nearest lamp, clicks the little knob twice and the room dims even more. There’s one more lamp, but is seems Shintarou’s choosing to leave it on for the night because he heads for the hallway without another word. Kazunari’s grateful—he really didn’t want to sleep in pitch-dark, not after the evening he’s had.

“Goodnight, Shin-chan!” Kazunari calls softly, sticks his legs under the blankets and pulls them up under his chin.

“Goodnight, Takao.” He replies without turning around, then softly closes his bedroom door behind him.

 

*

 

Kazunari wakes up more fully rested than he could recall in known memory. He yawns, stretches his arms above his head and thinks that his apartment smells a lot better than usual.

That’s when he remembers, when he snaps his eyes open and looks around. It’s clearly still early in the morning, the sun filtering in through peach-colored curtains with a sharp orange sheen. Kazunari stumbles up from the couch, unsteadily trudges to the kitchen as he rubs his eyes. The clock on the oven says that it’s seven AM, and he scratches his belly idly, thinking that he still has to get changed for his job that starts in an hour. 

He takes a quick peek down the hallway, noting that Shintarou’s bedroom door is open, and with a moment of quiet listening he doesn’t hear any signs of life other than himself. So he must have already left the house—to do whatever he does when he’s not home, to work or dig through dumpsters or however he acquires all his stuff.  But Kazunari feels weirdly touched that he’d trust a near stranger to be by himself among all his valuables—in the brief time they’ve spent together, Kazunari got the impression that Shintarou wasn’t a trusting person by nature. He can’t imagine what he could have done to gain Shintarou’s approval, but he’s going to be sure not to abuse it. 

He walks past the kitchen again and spots a piece of paper on the table—there’s writing on it, and Kazunari laughs when he sees that Shintarou’s handwriting is cutely loopy and elaborate.

 _Takao,_ it says firstly before skipping down a few lines, _I left for work while you were still asleep. Don’t bother with folding the blankets; I have a certain standard I know you won’t be able to meet. Also, remember to call someone today to take care of your problem._ There were another few blank lines, before ending with a formal, _Regards, Midorima Shintarou._

Kazunari snorts, ruffles his hair and notices that next to the note was a rectangle of foil. It’s a breakfast bar—the kind that was way too healthy, with raisins and weird amounts of fiber—but Kazunari grins, rips open the foil and shoves half of it into his mouth at once anyways. He then takes the note (careful not to wrinkle the paper), sticks it in his pocket, and he heads to the entry way to face his haunted apartment once more.

Yeah, Midorima Shintarou sure was a fascinating guy. And it was now Kazunari’s personal goal to make him laugh at least once, or die trying.

 

*

 

Kazunari comes back three days later. This time, there had been a whistling noise coming from underneath his bed, and over his dead body was he going to check to see if anything was there. He’s seen enough horror movies to know when wasn’t a good time to let curiosity get the better of him.

He chews on his lip for a second, debating, before he shrugs with a mental _eh, fuck it,_ and knocks on the door, three times like before. Again, he only has to wait for a moment before it’s opened and half of Shintarou’s face appears. When he sees that it’s Kazunari, his eyes widen, and to Kazunari’s surprise the door opens until all of him—all six feet five inches of dreamy obsessive collector is presented like an awkward and grassy-haired god. And what? No sweater vest today?

...was that a _v-neck?_

Dear God. He’s a total _babe_.

“Takao.”

Kazunari casually checks to make sure there isn’t drool dripping down his chin. “Yep, that’s me. So, listen, Shin-chan—“

“Do not call me—“

“Can I stay again?” Kazunari blurts, wrings his hands together and sticks out his lower lip even though he knows that it’s zero-percent effective.

He’s half-expecting for Shintarou to slam the door in his face, but all his does is sigh resignedly, lean against the doorframe. “I thought I told you to get that taken care of.”

“I tried! I called a medium, and she said that she can’t fit me in for a few more weeks.  I guess she’s booked and then going on vacation…“ He trails off, smiles up at Shintarou hopefully.

Shintarou doesn’t reply, just stares at him for a moment longer before he turns on his heel and walks back inside.

He does, however, leave the door open.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> is it just me who's always wondered what midorima's bedroom looks like? he has so much STUFF there's no way it's not PACKED. maybe he has a storage locker or somethin who knows
> 
> midotaka is honestly probably the most canon relationship in this whole friggin show. they are so precious together and i just wanted to add my two cents.
> 
> i saw a prompt on tumblr a lonnggg time ago about someone needing to crash at the other's persons place because theirs was haunted, but idk where it's floating around nowadays. i'm thinkin it'll be about three chapters long, and i've already done a lot of the second and it should be done by next week! the rating may change by the end but i dunno it depends on how everything pans out.
> 
> thank you for reading! if you wanna talk to me my tumblr is smileyeeyore.tumblr.com, and i LOVE getting messages!


	2. Why Do You Let Me Stay Here

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> some cake, a bathtub, and an almost-kiss

“Do you wanna split a dessert?” Kazunari asks, mouth practically dripping saliva as he reads through the menu. Everything seems to be richly saturated in chocolate, just the way he likes it. The lava cake looks best, probably. Because it’s going to be smothered in hot chocolate sauce, and served with cold ice cream, and the delicious contrast is enough for his toes to curl in his shoes. The only reason he’s asking to share is because he’s stuffed to the brim with greasy hamburger and French fries, and eating dessert’s going to require that he open up his second stomach, the one just for sweet things.

When he doesn’t get a reply, he glances up. Shintarou is frowning at his hands, messing with his fingers again distractedly, and Kazunari kicks his shin underneath the table. He jumps, glances up with wide eyes and Kazunari snorts.

“Is this how you treat all your dates, Shin-chan?”

“Date? I don’t believe I ever agreed to go on—“

“Calm down, I’m just yankin’ your chain.” Kazunari laughs, rolls his eyes and slides the menu over for Shintarou to see.

Kazunari doesn’t really know how he ended up sitting across from Midorima Shintarou at this homey diner. He knows that he had begged Shintarou to let him stay at his place, _just for a few hours tops, I swear!_ , and then he had noticed that he was hungry, and had most definitely heard Shintarou’s stomach make a strange whale-like noise from across the room.

He also knows that over the past couple weeks _“just a few hours, tops, I swear!”_ had evolved into code for “ _yeah, sorry, I’m totally sleeping on your couch again”._ He had been coming over more and more, and Shintarou barely gripes about him taking up that little area by the couch at all anymore. It had gotten to the point where the pile of blankets were just left there, and there was a bag of dried apple chips Kazunari had hidden and rolled up behind one of the cushions that he snacks on in the early hours of the morning when Midorima “Gramps” Shintarou had already departed for bed several hours earlier. There was a nice-sized television in a spot cleared of storage bins that was angled just in the right way towards the couch, and Kazunari usually spent a few hours unwinding from that evening’s trauma until he felt like he could actually fall asleep.

During the month or so that they've known each other, Kazunari's found out several things about Shintarou. One, that he had started his collection from a very young age—how young, Kazunari couldn't be sure, but it's pretty clear from Shintarou's reluctance to spill the information that it probably began the second he left the womb. The second thing was that the _reason_ he could afford so much stuff was because he was fairly loaded with cash. This was because, three, it turns out that Shintarou was a dentist, and he had inherited his very own practice from his retired father, and he now mans the place by himself. Kazunari wants to know what a high-paying dentist is doing living in a run-down apartment complex, but whenever he tries to coax out an answer Shintarou merely grunts and shoves his glasses up the bridge of his nose, something Kazunari can now interpret as “ _Takao, shut your damn mouth._ ”

Ever since he found out Shintarou's profession, Kazunari's been wanting to see his teeth so bad, so see if they’re as luminescent as he suspects—he only sees flashes of pearly white when he eats, or when his lip curls with his signature contempt. But that brings Kazunari back around to his main goal—to get the man to actually _smile._ So far, he’s been a stubborn butt about it. A few times Kazunari thinks he managed to wheedle out a little half-grin, which was really just a minuscule up-turning of lips that was completely unsatisfactory. But he thinks he’s getting close—Shintarou is still awkward as fuck, but he seems to relax more and more each time Kazunari comes knocking on his door. His cutting remarks had toned down until they just barely scraped the threshold of mean and teasing, and they made Kazunari's heart flutter in a weird way. Just the other night, he had actually stayed behind in the living room to watch television with Kazunari for half an hour before scurrying off to his bedroom like usual. That display of almost-tolerance for Kazunari's company was enough to keep him awake for hours afterwards, feeling giddy for no good reason. 

So, in his quest for personal gratification (that smile is gonna make the flowers grow, Kazunari just _knows_ it) he had somehow convinced Shintarou to come eat dinner with him, at a family restaurant, no less. He had been hoping to get the guy to actually _talk_ to him—maybe learn a thing or two he doesn’t have to deduce by himself from body language or one-word answers. But he had been relatively quiet (even more so than usual), and he had eaten cleanly as Kazunari desperately tried to come up with something they could talk about. He suspects his withdrawn behavior stemmed from the anxiety of being in such a loud environment—the place definitely wasn't Shintarou-friendly. It was 50's themed, with a soda fountain behind a wide bar, barstools lined up in a row in front. The floor was black-and-white checkers, tables and booths scattered throughout, all coated with a squeaky layer of red vinyl. There was a pleasant cacophony of noise, from screaming children and the upbeat tune of the jukebox. Kazunari personally liked it. He liked the lively atmosphere and, even more, the killer food. But for Shintarou, someone who barely left his house save for a quiet dentist's office, it probably seemed a bit overwhelming. All Kazunari's attempts at casual conversation had been shot down in the end, and so he had more or less given up to focus on his dinner. And now here they were, the only thing on Kazunari’s mind the foodgasm he’s about to have.

He props his chin in his hands, leans over and pokes the menu with his opposite index finger. 

“How do you feel ‘bout chocolate? Cuz I’m thinking this one’s the winner.”

Shintarou squints a little, slips his glasses a bit further down his nose (the guy is hopelessly near-sighted) to better read the description next to the delectable-looking picture. 

“I suppose.” He concedes, nodding almost as if to himself and Kazunari raises his eyebrows, swirling his straw around his empty glass.

“Really? You seem like the kinda guy who’d fight me on this.” 

Shintarou looks at him strangely, leans back into the booth seat. “Why do you say that?”

He fishes out an ice cube from his glass, crunches on it absentmindedly. “I guess I assume that people eat according to their personalities. You’re not exactly cuddly bear material, so you don’t seem like you’d like cake.”

Shintarou frowns, nudges the menu back towards Kazunari. “So what you are saying is that you think I’m unpleasant.”

He sounds slightly troubled by this, and Kazunari barks out a laugh of surprise, waves his hands in the air. “No, not at all! I’m just saying I see you more as a, I dunno, crème brûlée kinda guy? Or maybe a fruit tart. Something prim and proper.”

And as if it helps his case at all, at Kazunari’s words Shintarou’s back straightens into a posture a wooden board would be proud of. “I am not ‘prim and proper’.”

“Your napkin has not left your lap since we sat down. Trust me, you are.”

If Shintarou had the facial capacity to be pouting, Kazunari thinks that’s what he’d be doing right now. Kazunari grins, reaches out and slides the menu back to his side, turns in his seat to track down their waitress. “And for the record, I find your company very pleasant. You’re probably my favorite person I’ve met since I moved here.”

He thinks he hears Shintarou make a little choking noise, but before Kazunari can scope it out to see if he's suffocating on a fry their waitress is bouncing over and he’s enthusiastically ordering the cake, and she’s enthusiastically agreeing with him that _yes, it **was** the best choice, coming right up_!

As she flounces away he turns back, grinning excitedly, and Shinarou’s face is notably pinker than it was a minute ago.  Kazunari frowns, squints at Shintarou suspiciously. “What’s wrong Shin-chan? You too hot? I _told_ you you didn’t need to bring your jacket! Take it off already!” He reaches his hands across the table like he’s going to forcefully shove the jacket down Shintarou’s shoulders, but he shies away from the grabby hands.

“No, no. I’m…perfectly fine like this.”

Kazunari huffs, flops back in his seat.

“Whatever you say. Don’t blame me if you get heatstroke and _die_.”

Shintarou copies Kazunari’s little huff—he folds his arms, leans them into the table as if he’s trying to show Kazunari that he’s _definitely not prim and proper._

“Don’t be so melodramatic, Takao. This is hardly enough to cause heatstroke.”

Kazunari opens his mouth to argue, but then a mountain of ooey-gooey chocolate explosion is being set in front of him and he squeals. It's far more beautiful than he could possibly have imagined, hot fudge oozing out and collecting in pools around the vanilla ice cream. “This looks  _amazing!_ Thank you!” He flashes a quick smile at the waitress before he snatches one of the two forks that arrived with the cake. He waits for Shintarou to pick up his more slowly, and then he dives in.

Right away, he moans, closes his eyes in pure ecstasy and thinks to himself that this cake tastes better than any orgasm he’s ever had. “Shin-chan,” he whispers, eyes still closed. He runs his tongue across his bottom lip, scooping up a stray drop of fudge and Shintarou makes an uncomfortable high-pitched grunt in reply.

“What.”

Kazunari opens his eyes, reverently cuts himself another piece with his fork and he stares at the blob in awe. “This cake is _making love_ to my _mouth,_ Shin-chan. I would have this cake’s _babies.”_

Shintarou snorts and immediately begins coughing, and Kazunari laughs, the sound coming out in pealing giggles as Shintarou calms down, glares at him through watering eyes.

“I don’t see how that would be possible, seeing as you lack a uterus.” He rasps, picks the napkin off his lap to dab delicately at his mouth.

That starts another round of ruckus laughter, and in between bouts Kazunari shoves in a few more bites.

“ _That’s_ that only problem you see here? That I don’t have baby-making parts?”

“Well, that and other obvious reasons.” He pauses, shakes his head and stabs a chunk for himself. “You are ridiculous.” He adds, and Kazunari thinks there might be a bit of fondness in his tone but he’s too busy trying to hold back obscene noises to pay it much mind. 

They polish off the dessert in record time, and once they get the bill they go Dutch. Kazunari all but licks the plate clean, crunches his way through a few more ice cubes, and then the two of them slap a couple extra bills down on the table before heading outside, the bell tinkling behind them. Even though it’s the middle of spring it’s still very cold now that the sun’s gone down, and Kazunari’s starting to resent Shintarou in his warm jacket. But it's a nice walk back—they pass a lot of flowering trees on the sidewalk, most of them plum or cherry trees that scatter pretty pink petals across the road, chasing each other around Kazunari's shoes. The streetlamps cast an orange glow over the two of them, throwing Shintarou's face into a harsh contrast of light and dark that makes him look otherworldly. It was all quite romantic, if Kazunari says so himself.  

They're nearing the apartment building, and Kazunari looks up from where they are on the sidewalk; he can see his front door from here, and his stomach sinks with dread. “Ugh, I don’t wanna go home. Mr. Spooky has been very naughty the past few days.” He whines, casually tries to stick his freezing hand in his neighbor's pocket for warmth but Shintarou’s hands beat him to it. He pouts, crosses his arms across his chest and tries to ignore how his nipples are now trying to cut through his shirt.

Shintarou sighs, glances down at Kazunari from the corner of his eyes. His supermodel legs make his stride extremely long, and every few steps Kazunari jogs for half a second to keep up.

“Don’t watch your silly science fiction programs before bedtime. I’m sure they don’t help that overactive imagination of yours.” He says flatly, and Kazunari mulls over his meaning for a moment before he stops dead in his tracks. All of a sudden his blood pressure has skyrocketed, and he curls his hands into fists. 

“ _You don’t believe me_.” He says as an incredulous fact, his nostrils flaring because now he’s _pissed._

Shintarou stops as well, turns half way around and his eyes go wide at seeing Kazunari genuinely angry for the first time.

“You have to admit that it’s a bit improbable.” He says slowly, carefully, and Kazunari snarls.

“Yeah, I fuckin’ know it’s ‘improbable’! But don’t look at me like I’m a fuckin’ psycho! I _know_ something’s there!”

Shintarou sighs, looks off the side. “Takao—“

And Kazunari is ashamed to say that he actually stamps his foot—Shintarou’s neck makes a popping noise he whips around so fast, eyes wide and mouth open with shock. “No. Shin-chan, you’re comin’ with me. I’ll prove it to you.” He grabs Shintarou’s elbow, tows him over to and up the stairs, never letting his grip slacken. He can hear half-hearted protests coming from behind him but he vehemently ignores them. He's vibrating—with indignant anger and fear because even though he's not alone for once he's still terrified of stepping foot in his own home. 

At his front door he finally lets go, and he stares at the handle for a few moments apprehensively. He takes a deep, calming breath before he fishes the key out of his jeans pocket. He misses the lock a few times with his shaking hands, but then he finally turns the key and there’s a soft click, and Kazunari swings the door open. Immediately he’s on guard—he feels a chill, ghosting up his arms and he shivers. His apartment is so dark and silent that it feels like a pressure pressing down on his eardrums. But he can hear Shintarou’s soft breathing just behind him, and that alone is enough to keep him from hyperventilating. 

“Get in there.” He nods curtly towards the darkness of his apartment, and Shintarou sighs resignedly. He brushes past Kazunari, has to duck to avoid smacking his forehead into the top of the frame (damn him and his freakish height) and he steps inside.

“If it makes you feel better.”

As soon as he passes the eaves he immediately begins toeing off his shoes with a quiet “pardon the intrusion”, shrugs his jacket off and hangs it over his arm. He looks around for a moment quietly, then turns and flicks on the overhead light switch.

Kazunari’s so used to the attractive glow of Shintarou’s lamps that his eyes screw up with the harshness of this lighting. It makes everything look more sinister to him—everything’s all sharp edges and clear-cut shadows. Anything could be sitting there, camouflaging itself and preparing to attack.

He messily rips his shoes off and throws them by Shintarou’s, stands with his arms crossed and surveys the room. It’s quiet, but that’s normal for when he first comes home. But for once he wishes that something would melt out of the walls or throw a plate across the room or _something—_ something so that he can prove his point to Shintarou. He’s _not_ crazy, nor does he have an overactive imagination.

Shintarou looks around quietly for another few seconds. He glances towards the ceiling, actually crouches down and looks under the fold-out card table where Kazunari eats his meals—when he straightens, he looks over questioningly.

“What exactly am I supposed to be seeing here?”

Kazunari grumbles, rips the jacket from Shintarou’s arms and flings it onto his lounge chair. “Well, give ‘em a minute! They’re shy around strangers.”

“They’re shy around strangers.” Shintarou echoes flatly, and Kazunari stabs a finger at him before he even can _think_ about rolling his eyes. 

“No sassing me in my own home! Or else I’m kicking you out!”

“You’re the one that forced me in here.” Shintarou replies scathingly, but he does take a few more steps inside, cocks his head like he’s listening hard. Kazunari copies him—he thinks that maybe he can hear a little of the clicking noises that he’s grown so accustom too. But they’re too dull right now to say for sure, and definitely not enough to convince Shintarou.

Kazunari thinks for a moment, and then beckons his neighbor to follow him down the hallway. “C’mere. Usually the noise is really loud under my bed.”

Shintarou hesitates for a moment before following him at a snail’s pace. “In…in your bedroom?”

He turns back to look at him—now it’s _his_ turn to raise his eyebrows disbelievingly. “Uh, duh?”

Shintarou clears his throat, looks away and does that _thing_ with his fingers, like he’s trying to stretch them out even though they’re already long, that thing he does when he’s feeling the pressure of social interaction. It was an understandable thing for him to do that at the restaurant, but Kazunari can’t imagine why he’s doing that _now—_ they were alone, no one else around to keep up his cool-guy image, and he thought Shintarou had long ago (or, you know, never) cared what Kazunari thought of him.

The two of them walk towards Kazunari’s bedroom—his cheeks flush a little when he can already see in the dim how his floor is completely coated with dirty clothes. He has half a mind to tell Shintarou to wait there as he cleans up a little, but he pushes the impulse aside. 

Two-thirds of the way there, just as Kazunari twists his neck around to check to make sure Shintarou’s still following him—there’s a noise. And not just a little clanking like usual—no, it was fucking _loud,_ like someone had chucked a college textbook at the wall from the other side, and Kazunari _screams._

Before he realizes what he’s doing, he has Shintarou’s forearm in a vice grip, and he’s pulling the two of them into Kazunari’s little bathroom. He rips back the shower curtain, all but throws Shintarou in the tub before he climbs in himself. He forces Shintarou to sit, and presses his finger to his lips. He cocks his head to the side, straining his ears, his heart in his throat and cold sweat prickling on the back of his neck.

_Thud._

He blindly reaches out and clenches his hands around soft wool, yanks it towards him and cold fingers close around his hands, gently pries them away.

“Don’t tug. You’re going to stretch it out.”

Kazunari reaches again, presses his hand this time against an open mouth, and he feels a gust of surprised air fan against his fingers. “Shh. Shin-chan, did you _hear_ that? You heard that right? I didn’t imagine that?” He whispers desperately, and Shintarou curls his fingers around Kazunari’s wrist and pulls it away again.  

“Yes, I heard that. But I do not think—“

“Hush!”

Another long-suffering sigh. 

As Kazunari continues to listen in the darkness of the unlit bathroom, his eyes begin to adjust to the gloom and he can finally see Shintarou sitting beside him. And it’s probably the funniest thing he’s ever seen, the terrifying situation forgotten for the moment.

Shintarou is way too tall to be sitting horizontally in a bathtub. His knees are pressed tightly into the edge, and his shoulders are hunched and he looks the crabbiest he’s been since Kazunari’s met him, but he finds that it’s not the least bit intimidating, and actually pretty adorable. As he watches Shintarou glare sullenly at the shower curtain, Kazunari realizes that his heart’s calmed down—there’s only leftover sweat on the back of his neck, and he’s not trembling. It’s probably because Shintarou is incredibly stable—he’s radiating calm and composure, and it’s contagious.

Kazunari grins, realizes his hands had found their way back to Shintarou’s sweater and he releases him gently. “Huh. I guess since you’re here I’m not as scared.”

Shintarou looks at him from the corner of his eyes, his mouth tipped down. “Not as scared? We are hiding in your _bathtub_.” He grumbles, shifting uncomfortably.

Kazunari nods in agreement. “True. But last time I was in my hiding in my closet.”

“How is this considered an improvement?”

He ponders this for a moment, and then giggles. “Touché, Shin-chan.”

He gets a disagreeable noise in return, and as Kazunari looks at him, the bathroom washed just slightly in the glow coming from down the hallway, he notices something. There’s a smudge just below Shintarou's lower lip, and Kazunari squints. 

“Ah, Shin-chan, I just noticed. You have chocolate on your face.”

He blinks, raises his hand, and hesitantly hovers his fingers near his cheek. “Where?”

“Here, let me get it.”

Kazunari licks his thumb, grabs Shintarou’s chin and guides it forwards. He rubs at the spot for a moment rigorously, and once he’s done the skin is slightly pink and Kazunari swipes his tongue along his thumb again, now tasting faintly of chocolate.

“There. Got it.” He says proudly, licking his lips to make the taste stay longer. While they’re like this, Kazunari takes a moment to appreciate the fullness of Shintarou’s mouth, the pretty bow of his upper lip and the smooth curve of the bottom. _Delectable._

Satisfied, Kazunari looks up, and immediately freezes. He hadn’t realized, but he had scooted forwards when he took Shintarou’s chin in his hand, and his face is now a lot closer than it had been—unsurprisingly, Shintarou’s staring in what is obvious shock and _damn it, Kazunari, personal space!_

But he doesn’t move, and neither does Shintarou. They just stare at each other, and— _wait, did Shin-chan just look at my mouth?_

He had. It had been quick, but his eyes had definitely dipped down for fraction of a second to look at Kazunari’s lips. Shintarou’s face is taking on a noticeably darker shade, and Kazunari’s feeling a strange tickle in his belly.

He really, really, really wants to kiss Shintarou.

“Shin-chan…” He murmurs, his eyelids lowering the littlest bit without his consent, and like a spell is broken Shintarou immediately jolts like he was stabbed with a fork, and he straightens up, clears his throat.

“Takao. From what I can tell, the noises are not coming from anything supernatural. You are probably just being paranoid.”

Kazunari blinks slowly, his heart pounding in his ears, and he leans back, his eyes never leaving Shintarou’s face. He’s trying not to let his disappointment show—that hadn’t just been his imagination. Shintarou had wanted it too, right? So then why…?

He lets out a long breath, takes a moment to collect himself and then smiles. “If I’m paranoid, then what was that sound just now, hm?”

Shintarou’s still not looking at him—he shrugs, staring at the rim of the tub. “I am not a plumber. I wouldn't know,” he mumbles.

Kazunari doesn’t say anything. He just sits there, feeling the warmth of Shintarou’s body next to him, and he closes his eyes.

“Hey, Shin-chan?”

“What is it?”

“I still don’t wanna be here by myself. Can I stay over?”

He waits for a moment, holding his breath anxiously. He's never been truly nervous asking that question, not even the first time they met. But something in the air is different this time—it's heavy, and Shintarou’s hesitating now, he can tell. It's nerve-wracking because the last few times he's asked the answer had been near automatic, just a sigh of surrender and a tired  _"don't make a mess"._ Now it seems like he has to think about it, and Kazunari feels sick. 

Finally Shintarou grunts quietly, and Kazunari opens his eyes.

“It’s Friday.” 

Kazunari furrows his brows, feels himself slumping but he forces his voice to sound natural. “I thought you didn’t work on the weekends,” he says lightly.

Shintarou looks straight ahead. “I don’t.”

“Oh.”

He tried to sound understanding and neutral, he really did, but even he could hear how dejected he sounded just now. He's trying to keep his breathing even, to hold off the pain in his chest and the pressure in his throat. 

_He hates me. I don't know why but he hates me._

Shintarou moves again, his back popping, and when he speaks his voice is slightly strained. “So to make things easier on both of us, I think it would be best if you just stayed the weekend.” The dark color's returned to his face, and he's looking everywhere but the man sitting next to him, fiddling with his fingers on top of his knees. 

Kazunari gapes at him, trying to quell the insatiable hope rising in his chest. “I can stay for the weekend? The whole weekend?”

He sighs. “Yes, that _is_ what I said.”  

And then he can’t stop the grin from spreading so wide across his face his cheeks begin to ache. “…so it’ll be a slumber party? Are we gonna braid each other’s hair?”

“Don’t push your luck, Takao.”

Shintarou’s the first to stand—he delicately gets out of the tub, careful not to trip over his long legs. He glances over his shoulder, offers a hand to Kazunari. “Come. Gather your things.”

Kazunari takes the hand in both of his, uses it to haul himself upwards, and he thinks he might have been too obvious in holding onto it longer than he should have. “Fine. But you gotta promise that we’ll do _something_ fun. Like watch a movie or play a board game.” Kazunari steps out of the tub, follows Shintarou out into the hallway and lets him lead the way into the bedroom.

“I’m not promising you anything,” Shintarou scoffs, flicks on the light switch and looks around. Kazunari fights a blush—the carpet is near-invisible underneath all the dirty clothes, and there are empty soda cans and wrappers littering the ground. His bed is unmade and messy, and the stagnant air smells like stale sweat and corn snacks. Definitely not up to Shintarou’s standards for cleanliness.

Kazunari cocks his head to the side and listens; he doesn't hear any telltale crackling noises from under his bed, so he decides to risk it and wander inside. He fishes his overnight bag from the dregs of his closet, kneels on the floor and begins stuffing anything he thinks may be clean inside. He surreptitiously sniffs a t-shirt, and deeming it adequate he jams it in his bag.

“Please, Shin-chan? Otherwise I’m gonna have to tell everyone what a lousy date you are.” He threatens, leering up at Shintarou and reaching for a pair of boxers he’s pretty sure he washed just the other day.

He’s expecting Shintarou to blush again, to stammer and vehemently deny that _of course this isn’t a date, you imbecile._ But Shintarou just looks at him from the doorway, his expression unreadable, and then says in a voice unmistakably clear, “In that case, then I suppose I don’t have a choice, now do I?” He turns, begins walking back towards the front room and calls over his shoulder, “Since you’re my _date,_ then I will let you pick out the movie. Now hurry up, Takao. We don’t have all night.” Then he disappears around the corner towards the front door, leaving Kazunari gaping dumbly and feeling more than a little flustered.

 _"Oh my God,"_ He covers his mouth with his hand, feels the uncontrollable curve of his lips pressing into the flats of his fingers. " _I think Shin-chan just flirted with me."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YOOOO this took longer than i expected because i SUCK. that's it that's the only reason. 
> 
> so there's probably gonna be one more chapter after this; maybe 2 but probably 1.  
> And i wanted to thank everyone that kudos or comments or messages me on tumblr because even if i don't have time to reply i read all of them and squeal and i glow like a little sunbeam for like three days afterwards so THANK YOU YOU'RE ALL SO KIND.  
> as always, smileyeeyore.tumblr.com is where i spend an embarrassing amount of free time so feel free to hit me up!! BECAUSE I WOULD LOVE THAT.


	3. And Then I Saw His Face

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “By any chance, are you trying to seduce me?” Shintarou asks quietly, waits for half a heartbeat and then physically recoils into himself. “No, of course you’re not, how ridiculous.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> RATING CHANGED TO MATURE! Not very explicit but yah a little kissy kissy touchy touchy lol

The tension is _killing him._

He doesn’t think he’s ever been this frustrated in his entire life. All of a sudden, whenever they’re within five feet of each other, there’s a sparkling thickness, a jumping electricity that makes Kazunari’s muscles ache and he longs to _snap it._

Ever since that night—ever since he got up-close-and-personal with Shintarou’s mouth (not as close as he’d like), ever since they had their “date” watching Spirited Away on Shintarou’s couch, so close their thighs brushed together, things have been hard on Kazunari. Literally, things have been _hard_ , if you catch his drift. Because honestly, he only has so much self-control, and when it's late at night on Shintarou's couch and he's surrounded by the smell of him, by his adorable nerdy collection, his imagination might get away from him more often than he'd like. 

Maybe, if that's all it was, just the unbearable physical yearning, then he could probably just jerk it off a couple times a day with the mental imagine of Shintarou slathered in whipped cream and call it good. But no. Things had to get complicated.

His more inappropriate fantasies aren't just because Shintarou’s ass looks like it belongs painted in excruciating detail on the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel. Well, it’s definitely a contributing factor. No doubt about it, the man is drop-dead gorgeous, and he always smells like a kind of musky cologne that makes Kazunari’s mouth damn near water. But mostly, the reason that beating it himself just doesn't do the job anymore is that Kazunari has come to the belated conclusion that he has a fucking _crush._ Full-blown, _heart heart heart I like Midorima Shintarou heart heart heart,_ doodling in his notebook, _crush._ He’s got it _bad._

When he thinks about it, it really doesn’t make sense. They are about as opposite as two people can be. Kazunari thrives on people and attention, whereas Shintarou could most likely live like a hermit on a mountaintop for twenty years and not bat an eyelash. Kazunari is bright and lively and more-or-less lives in his own filth. Shintarou is gruff and mellow and  _immaculate._ But he also happens to be unbearably cute, and Kazunari just doesn't have the capabilities of ignoring that. Whether he realizes he's doing it or not, Shintarou’s quirks - the way he talks like an insufferable know-it-all, the obsession he has with his hands, his tendency to blush crimson out of bum-fuck nowhere - they're all somehow completely irresistible. Sometimes he's kind of mean, and is very generous with his use of the word "idiot", and is probably too sensible for his own good. But he's also surprisingly patient for how much he complains; he's kind, and gentle, and deep down, Kazunari  _knows_ Shintarou finds his jokes funny, even if he never says so outwardly. 

The bottom line is that Shintarou gets Kazunari’s blood pumping in more ways than one, and he wants something done about it. But nothing has, and he's starting to worry that nothing ever will. 

Because no matter how big a part of himself is convinced that the tension is  _palpable,_  that it cracks like a whip, that there is absolutely no way Shintarou can't feel it too - the fact of the matteris that Shintarou is Shintarou, and oblivious kind of comes with the territory. Which means that so far, he's gotten  _nothing._ No soft, lingering touches (or, no touching whatsoever), no longing glances, no sultry invitations for a late-night massage among candlelight...

In all fairness, it's not like he's being obnoxiously obvious about the more sugary areas of his thoughts. He's just being Kazunari, which happens to include a lot of touching and flirting by default. Which he admits can be a bit misleading at times, but he finds it hard to believe that Shintarou isn't at least catching on a _little_ bit to the more carnal aspects of his crush. In a fit of desperation he had even gone so far as to wear his revered and reportedly sexy booty shorts as pajama bottoms one night. They weren't even all that revealing; they just so happened to accentuate his ass in a way he knew warranted a double-take and an appreciative once-over. Maybe an accidental boner if he was lucky. But Shintarou hadn't even  _looked._ Instead he had literally run in the opposite direction, nearly sprinting down the hallway back to his room in his night slippers, a hasty "goodnight, Takao" thrown over his shoulder. Which left Kazunari alone, looking scrumptious for no good reason, simultaneously sulking and trying not to think about touching himself. And failing. _  
_

He just doesn't know what do to anymore. But he does know one thing for sure - as he’s come to know Shintarou better and better these days, he knows for a fact that he’s the one that’s going to have to make the first move. Call it a hunch, but he doesn’t think Shintarou’s big on grand confessions. Or even little ones. He’d probably be content to stew in any potential feelings until the end of time if Kazunari’d let him.

But no. That’s not happening. Kazunari refuses to let this terrible, awful, _wretched_ pressure continue on any longer. _But how in God’s name do I confess without scaring him off?_ That was the big question. Because regardless of what he _thinks_ Shintarou feels for him, there’s still a good chance that the barest whiff of romance will have him running for the hills, never to be seen or heard from again.

So it's going to be a delicate procedure. Unfortunately, "delicate" and "Kazunari" are two words that mesh together about as well as oil and water. At his wit's end, Kazunari does the first thing that comes to mind - he calls for help, like the self-admitted loser he is. 

“Yu-chan!” he cries, draped dramatically on his bed, his head hanging over the edge as he cradles the phone to his ear. 

There’s a long-suffering sigh. “Wh—“ and then Yukio is immediately interrupted by a shrill screaming in the background, and Kazunari winces on his behalf.

“Oh, sweetheart, I know. I know it hurts,” Kazunari hears Yukio crooning, his voice a little distant as he holds the phone away on the other end. Kazunari waits patiently for a few moments for Yukio to make soothing noises, and when he returns with a grunt he grins sympathetically into the receiver. “Is Naoe-chan still teething?” he asks, tone gentle, and Yukio makes a wordless noise of affirmation.

“I got two hours of sleep last night, so whatever you called me for better not be stupid,” he replies, and Kazunari can hear the exhaustion in his voice. 

“It’s not stupid! I need relationship advice. Since you’re in an actual relationship and all,” he says, blinking up at his ceiling. There are cracks, and one is shaped like a rabbit. He traces the shape with his eyes as Yukio huffs out a tired laugh.

“Fine, fine. I’ll do what I can. Is this about Mr. Stick-Up-His-Ass?”

Kazunari nods vigorously, even though he knows Yukio can’t see him. “Yeah, yeah, him! I've been brainstorming, and I’m starting to think the only way to get the ball rolling is to jump him.”

“No, idiot. Don’t jump him. From what you’ve told me he doesn’t seem like he’d appreciate that,” he says, and then more distantly, “You want some banana, sweetie? Daddy would love it if you ate some banana.”

Kazunari ignores the sickeningly sweet side-conversation, just rolls onto his stomach and pouts. “But Yu-chan, the sexual tension is off the charts! I _want_ him! I _need_ him!” he howls theatrically in the receiver, and Yukio hisses, most likely pulls the phone away from his ear.

“I get enough screaming from Naoe, I don’t need it from you too,” he growls, before sighing and saying more softly, “C’mon Nari, it’s not rocket science. Let him know you’re interested. Maybe bring him lunch at work. You like that kind of gross romantic crap, don’t you?”

Kazunari groans again. “Yeah, I _could,_ but honestly Yu-chan, you should see him. He’s the densest guy in the friggin’ world. He’d probably just assume I’m trying to even the score after he’s let me stay over so many times.”

Yukio hums for a moment in thought. “And you’re sure he likes you?”

Kazunari scoffs. “Psh! As if anyone could resist _me!”_

“Nari.”

“Hmph,” he grumbles, roughly scrubs his fingers through his hair; it’s greasy—he needs to take a shower. “Honestly, I think he does. But it’s hard to tell.”

There's another few moments of silence - Kazunari wishes landlines were still a thing, so that he could curl his finger around the cord like back in the good old days as he waits. Finally, there's a slight ruffling, as if Yukio is adjusting the phone by his ear. “Okay. You wanna hear my official advice?”

More frantic nodding. “Yeah!”

“Be clear, but try to restrain your enthusiasm. You can flirt, but don’t make it over-the-top. You don’t wanna scare him. I think bringing him something at work is a good idea.”

“So…lunch?”

“Yeah. Do that. Let me know how it goes,” Yukio says, his last words garbled as he says them through a yawn.

“Okay, I will,” Kazunari says, his belly already starting to twist with nerves. Oh man, this was  _it_. He was actually gonna to do something - the static situation was going to change. Whether he liked it or not, sooner rather than later Shintarou was going to know how Kazunari felt about him.

The thought is absolutely terrifying.  

Yukio hums, the sound of a gurgling baby girl in the background, and he clucks his tongue. “And, again. Please, _do not_ jump him.”

Kazunari grins. “If you say so, Yu-chan.”

 

*

 

Midorima Family Dentistry is a ridiculously clean-looking building sandwiched between a bakery and a bookstore.

As Kazunari stands outside it, worrying his lip and staring at the clean characters above the door, a wrapped bento clenched painfully between his hands, he wonders if he really has the balls for this. He can still turn back now, and no one will be the wiser of his cowardice. He can lie to Yukio, say he delivered the lunch and that was it, that there was no extravagant love-making or meadow-frolicking thereafter.

...but he _wants_ there to be love-making and meadow-frolicking, and none of that is ever gonna happen if he doesn’t fucking grow a pair and get done what needs to be done.

_You can do this. You can do this._

When he pushes open the front door, immersed in his inner pep-talk, it smells like, well, a dentist’s office. The air is dry and cool, and there are a couple couches along with some chairs in the waiting room. There’s a short little table in the corner, a train set and a box of building blocks on top. A part of him wants to go sit in the corner and stack a couple Lego's for nostalgia’s sake, but he’s here on a mission. He’s not going to be distracted by children’s toys, no matter how tempting. 

He walks up to the front desk, where a young (excessively handsome) man is typing on the computer and scribbling something down on a clipboard next to him. When he notices Kazunari, he looks up with a bright smile. “Hello! Do you have an appointment?” he asks cheerily, clicking the mouse a few more times before turning in his chair completely and giving Kazunari his undivided attention.

“Uh, no, but is Dr. Midorima around? I brought him something,” Kazunari says, his stomach fluttering with nervous butterflies.

And _immediately,_ Kazunari can see that this man _knows._ His lips are quirked almost invisibly in a knowing smile, and his eyebrows have risen infinitesimally up his forehead. It’s infuriating and hot at the same time.

“Oh! Well, he’s busy right now, but if you leave it here with me I’ll be sure to give it to him!” he says with relish, propping his chin on his fist and tilting his head just so, the light hitting him in a way that’s near angelic. _This guy sure knows how to work his angles_ , Kazunari muses.

“It’s kind of important that I give it to him myself."

The receptionist puts on a big show of looking apologetic. “I’m sorry, but—“

“Kise, what seems to be the issue?”

Kazunari’s head snaps up, his stomach flipping because that voice could very well rouse him from a coma. Shintarou’s just walking out from a door in the back of the receptionist’s area, his fingers reaching underneath his glasses to rub at his eyes tiredly. He drops his hand, blinking several times, and squints at Kazunari. Immediately, so fast it’s nearly comical, his jaw becomes slack. “Takao! W-what. What are…you doing here?” he reaches for his tie, begins tugging at it, his eyes wide, red creeping up his neck.

And, well, _damn._ His crisp mint-green shirt is tucked into a pair of the best fitting black slacks Kazunari has ever seen, and his hair is gelled so his bangs are pushed up and to the side, clearing his forehead and—oh _God_ , Kazunari wants to run his fingers through it and thoroughly mess it up. He looks so good, so _professional_.

_Keep it together, Nari._

So instead his stomach does a _ridiculous_ somersault that he nearly keels over from, but he still manages to summon up a huge, albeit slightly nauseous, smile. “Shin-chan! C’mere! I got a present for you!” He holds the wrapped bento behind his back with one hand, beckons Shintarou forward with the other.

The doctor takes a few cautious steps.  “A…present?” His eyes follow Kazunari’s arm behind his back, and the pink reaches his cheeks. He holds out his hands, looking unsure. “Then—“

Kazunari shakes his head. “No can do, Shin-chan. It’s a secret.” He looks pointedly at the secretary, who’s watching him shrewdly, and Shintarou sighs.

“Very well. Come around the counter. My office is back here.”

“Aye aye, Captain!” Kazunari salutes, smiles sweetly at the receptionist who rolls his eyes and points for Kazunari to walk around. He does, stepping between large shelves of filing cabinets, follows Shintarou in through the door to his office. He notices gleefully that Shintarou closes the door behind them.

As soon as he does, it starts—that  _tension,_ that overwhelming awareness of Shintarou's every movement, every breath. Kazunari tries to ignore it, casually makes a slow circle around the room, whistling lowly. “Wow, Shin-chan. Look at you, Big Mr. Boss Man. Your own office and everything.”

For the building's size, it's actually a fairly big office. Two chairs face Shintarou's desk, which is decorated sparsely with a name plate, a small potted plant, a picture frame, and today's lucky item of a single high heeled shoe. The desk's surface is scattered with papers and manila folders in carefully arranged chaos -  it seems Shintarou's hoarding tendencies don't cross over into his professional life. There’s also lots of framed papers on the walls - a couple degrees, Shintarou’s doctorate, what looks like a letter of recommendation. A hand-written note. Upon closer inspection, Kazunari sees that the author is none other than one Midorima Jun, the previous doctor and Shintarou’s father.

Shintarou steps past him to his desk, leans against it and crosses his arms. “Takao. This is…certainly unexpected,” he says, sounding awkward.

Kazunari looks over his shoulder, now hiding the bento at his front. “Is it a problem?”

“No, of course not,” but he winces as he says this, and Kazunari frowns. Maybe he actually _wasn’t_ welcome. Maybe he had been reading the atmosphere wrong this entire time. The thought has his palms sweating, and he wipes his free hand on his pants. Kazunari turns, takes the few steps to reach Shintarou and holds out his other hand, presenting the wrapped box with a pained expression that he can’t quite hold back. “I made this for you.”

Shintarou looks up from where he had been examining his shoes, and his forehead wrinkles. “What is it?”

“A bento.” He gets a blank expression in response, so he elaborates: “It’s got food in it.”

Shintarou lets out a hard gust of air, staring at the box like it’s going to sprout legs and walk away. “You made lunch. For me.”

_Oh God, Oh God, Oh God._

Kazunari licks his lips nervously. “Yeah.”

“Oh.”

_Damage control! Keep your cool! Whatever you do, don't -_

“You look good,” Kazunari blurts, and immediately bites so hard on his bottom lip he nearly breaks through the skin. Subtlety _was_ is middle name, after all.

Shintarou’s head snaps up from the bento, and he looks nearly frightened. “I look…good?”

Kazunari struggles to keep his facial muscles relaxed. Everything’s going to hell - he needs to scrounge up what remnants of his composure he has left. There’s no way Shintarou is oblivious to the situation - Kazunari's flirting may be terrible, but a blind dog would be able to catch on.  

He nods, casual. “Yeah. You look…handsome.”

 _Handsome_? What, was he Shintarou’s _grandmother?_ He just needs to stop talking.

Shintarou opens his mouth, then closes it. His face is red - hell, Kazunari would be embarrassed too if some lame guy came to visit him at work to assault him with half-assed compliments. Finally, he lets out a long sigh, looks at Kazunari hesitantly from under his lashes, and Kazunari’s heart does a weird squeezing thing.

“By any chance, are you trying to seduce me?” Shintarou asks quietly, waits for half a heartbeat before he physically recoils into himself. “No, of course you’re not, how ridiculous.”

Kazunari's brain short-circuits. He stares, watching Shintarou's face bloom a vivid color thick with embarrassment, as his eyes squint nervously and the quiet breaths that leave him are shivery, trembling. 

...

........ _  
_

_...what?_

He leans past Shintarou, slams the box down on the desk, and crosses his arms as he looks up to meet wary eyes fiercely. “Are you _kidding_ me right now? Seriously?”  

Kazunari is _floored_. He knew Shintarou was dense, but _this…_ this is a whole new level of stupid. And it's hurting, because never in a million years would he have wanted Shintarou to look so damn  _afraid_ of him. He wants to say _it_ _'s just me, Shin-chan, it's just dumb ol' Kazunari, I peed my fuckin' bed until I was fourteen,_ anything to stop Shintarou from looking as ashamed as the way he does now.  _  
_

Shintarou flushes a deeper red, blinks several times before tearing his gaze away. “My apologies. I’m not very good at reading situations. Please forget I asked,” he says stiffly, dropping his crossed arms to brace his hands on the desk behind him. He’s looking at everything that isn't Kazunari, his expression wooden yet so obviously overwhelmed with anxiety and Kazunari can't  _stand it._

“Shin-chan, I have been basically throwing myself at you from the second we met,” he snaps, stepping closer, pressing his sweaty palms into Shintarou’s chest (what can he say, he’s selfish, sue him). 

Shintarou’s gaze darts down to meet his eyes, eyebrows knotting with confusion, the muscles under Kazunari's hands tensing. “You…” 

Kazunari sighs. It looks like if he wants something, he’ll have to take it.

_I’m sorry, Yu-chan._

He reaches up, grabs onto the hair at the nape of Shintarou’s neck and pulls him down at the same time he pushes himself up onto his toes. He lets their noses brush together, smiling, and Shintarou lets out a soft noise of surprise. 

“I _like_ you, stupid,” he laughs, looking searchingly into Shintarou’s eyes and doesn't miss the way his breath hitches. “Do you like _me_?” he asks, tilting his head slightly, his lips hovering just over Shintarou’s but not touching them together. As a compromise for this breach of personal space, that part’s not gonna be up to him. 

Shintarou stares blankly at him for another moment, his quivering breath against Kazunari’s lips, and in the next second Kazunari finds their positions switched as he’s being pushed against the desk, warm hands on the backs of his thighs, lifting him up, and he instinctively winds his legs around Shintarou’s, pulling him closer. 

“ _Obviously,”_ Shintarou breathes, and then it happens. It’s small, and so subtle that if Kazunari wasn’t literally two inches from his face he might not have taken notice. Shintarou is _smiling._ He can see a little of his top row of teeth, perfectly white and straight, the corners of his lips pulled up, bunching his cheeks together. It’s not the all-encompassing spectacle that Kazunari had envisioned, but it’s somehow even better. It's unbearably gentle - his eyes are soft, and just a little crinkled at the corners, and flooded with such sincere relief and happiness. It’s a very _Shintarou_ smile.

It’s utterly beautiful.

Kazunari can feel his face heating up, and he'd never thought he'd see the day when Shintarou successfully rendered him speechless. But his head's drawn to a fuzzy blank, and his brain is swimming with green eyes and pretty pink lips and a swarm of _obviously_ 's murmured in low tones. His skin is buzzing, crackling with the unsaid electricity, and his muscles tremble with how much he _wants this,_ with how much he wants to  _touch_ and how much he wants to step over this final boundary. But Shintarou just holds him there, sitting on top of the desk, the tip of his nose tracing the edge of Kazunari’s jaw. He waits, and when Shintarou still doesn't say anything he realizes that maybe  _he's_ supposed to speak up. So he takes a trembling breath, to say what he doesn’t know, but he doesn’t get the chance.

“You are _beautiful_ ,” Shintarou then murmurs, his big hands running up and down Kazunari’s thighs.

The air catches in Kazunari’s throat, and he tightens his legs, wraps his arms around strong shoulders and buries his face in Shintarou’s neck, groaning wordlessly. Because the words were so quiet, so reverent, so awestruck and thick with unabashed affection that Kazunari could barely handle it. Because what could he possibly have to say to that? _No, you’re crazy. You’re obviously the beautiful one here._

“Would it be appropriate of me to ask you for a favor?” Shintarou then asks, voice deep and gravely and Kazunari’s stomach twists. He nods silently, prompting Shintarou to continue.

“Would you do me the honor of allowing me to take you on a date?”

Kazunari huffs out a disbelieving laugh. "What, movie night on your couch not good enough for you?" he asks, breathless, and Shintarou just hums wordlessly, his hands rubbing up and down, up and down Kazunari's thighs, the feeling so good and distracting that Kazunari is having trouble stringing together sentences. When he finally snatches the right words from his addled brain, he deliberately speaks them so his lips brush the soft skin of Shintarou’s neck as they move.  “I think my answer might be a little obvious at this point, Shin-chan. But I appreciate the thought,” he murmurs, and as his mouth forms syllables Shintarou visibly shudders, the tips of his fingers digging a little bit into the flesh of Kazunari's thighs. 

He swallows thickly. “So is that a yes?”

“Duh," Kazunari sighs, is more obvious in the way he lets his lips ghost across milky skin, and Shintarou's hands migrate to rest on Kazunari's hips. 

“I see,” he pauses, his throat working, and Kazunari forces himself not to follow the motion with his mouth. “In that case, I have one more question.”

“I’m gettin’ a little tired of talking here, Shin-chan.”

“I will be quick. Would…would you be opposed to a…a k…kiss, even if it is before we’ve had a proper date? I realize that this request may be a bit brazen of me.”

Kazunari kind of wants to point out that pushing someone onto a desk (and basically everything that followed - hell, Kazunari's lips are basically suction-cupped to Shintarou's neck) wasn’t exactly a wholesome, before-the-first-date kind of thing to do either, but he refrains. In lieu of a response, he pulls himself away from Shintarou’s throat, runs his hands up his shoulders to cup him underneath his jaw. He leans up, guiding Shintarou’s face down as he does, and their lips meet softly. He teases the seam of Shintarou’s lips for a moment with his tongue, and just as Shintarou’s mouth opens a little to reciprocate, letting out an airy sort of noise as he does, he pulls back.

“Does that answer your question?” he grins, licking his lips, and Shintarou stares at the slow roll of his tongue. His expression is almost… _hungry_ , and a thrill runs down Kazunari’s spine.

“Very effectively,” Shintarou replies, not wasting another second before stooping down and roughly catching Kazunari’s mouth with his own. The force of it is enough to make Kazunari whimper, and he pulls Shintarou as close as possible with his legs, their chests flush.

The rubber band suddenly snaps. _  
_

His mouth is desperate, his hand skimming down Shintarou’s throat to dip below the collar of his shirt, to grab at the meaty part of his shoulder with trembling fingers. He has harder control of reigning in the other - without his say-so, it sneaks down to the bottom of Shintarou’s button-up, roughly yanking it out of his pants to press his hand to the hot skin of his stomach. He scratches his nails across the trail of hair below Shintarou’s bellybutton, and Kazunari whines, not caring that he sounds so recklessly needy because Shintarou _shivers_ at his touch. 

“Ohhh, Shin-chan, you drive me _crazy,”_ he breathes hot in Shintarou’s open mouth, so consumed by the heat of him, the _smell_ of him. Shintarou _moans,_ and _God_ if that isn’t the single hottest sound Kazunari’s ever heard.

Shintarou, amazingly, steps even closer. He’s towering over Kazunari, bending him backwards, one hand moving to the small of Kazunari’s back to keep him from tipping over and spilling out across the desk. Kazunari nips at his lips, sucks the bottom one between both of his (so pretty, tastes so _good)_ and that seems to do the trick for Shintarou. One hand still at Kazunari’s back, the other one is now very deliberately pressing into his groin, and Kazunari _melts._

 _“God, yes, just like that,”_ he groans, pushing his hips forward encouragingly, and Shintarou makes a wicked little noise, almost like a growl. He squeezes the bulge in Kazunari’s pants, his lips kissing at his chin and down his throat, jerking his neckline down to mouth at his collarbones. Kazunari feels like he’s on fire, like he’s made of honey and embers at the same time, and he can hear himself panting, his hands now twisted in Shintarou’s hair, messing it up just like he fantasized about. 

Just as he’s wondering if Shintarou would mind having his fingers sucked on (those fucking _fingers,_ long and pale and wet with Kazunari’s saliva—) the two of them freeze as there’s a sharp knock on the office door.

“I hate to interrupt the happy couple, but may I remind Midorimacchi that you have an appointment at noon.”

The both of them listen as the footsteps fade away, utterly still, and then Shintarou looks down at Kazunari, looking unbearably regretful. “I’m sorry.”

Kazunari shakes his head, still panting a little, and he rests his forehead against Shintarou’s chest. “It’s okay. I...should probably get back to the office, too.”

Shintarou slowly removes his hand from the tenting of Kazunari’s pants ( _why oh why do bad things happen to good people)_ and he runs both of them up Kazunari’s arms instead, finding his chin and tipping it up to face him. He kisses him, this time with less force but not lacking any fervor, and Kazunari sighs blissfully.

“We can…continue later,” Shintarou says quietly, staring, dazed, at Kazunari’s lips like he would very much like to keep kissing them.

“Tonight?” Kazunari asks, feeling slow and lazy as the adrenaline leaves his body.

“If that’s alright with you.”

Kazunari hums, blinking slowly, and he smiles.

“Wouldn’t miss it.”

**

The woman is fucking  _old_. Her wrinkles look like they don’t belong on any living person; in fact, Kazunari makes an educated guess that this lady is no less than one-hundred and twenty years old. There just wasn’t any other probable explanation. Like, seriously, she kind of looks like she should already be dead herself. She’s dressed the part, as well. Silky layers of deep purples and wine reds, sweeping the ground as she glides around. Long necklaces of black beads around her neck, her fingers and toes coated with rings. In her ears are enormous hoops, so wide they brush the top of her shoulders. Her ancient skin is decorated with faded tattoos, of what Kazunari can’t tell, but they add a certain level of mystery. Overall, she gives off a very otherworldly vibe. Perfect for someone who makes a living talking to dead people. 

Shintarou stands beside him, observing the woman meander around Kazunari’s apartment with skepticism, and she must be aware of this because every few seconds she shoots him a nasty look. After a solid ten minutes of shuffling around, touching the walls, running her hands over every single piece of furniture, she nods sagely to herself, pruney lips pursed. “It’s just as I thought.”

“What? What is it?” Kazunari asks, alarmed, and she seems to appreciate his enthusiasm because she treats him to a mystic twirl of her shawl before looking at him dead-on, her voice lowered darkly to whisper, “ _Shadow people_.”

Shintarou scoffs, not even bothering to hide the noise of contempt, and both the woman and Kazunari glare at him. Kazunari returns his attention to the woman, appropriately horrified.

“Shadow people? What are they? Ghosts?”

She shakes her head. “No, my child. Ghosts tend to appear mist-like, and from what you’ve said these are black figures. Some experts believe shadow people are demonic in nature—” she pauses, waits for Kazunari to gape in terror before continuing, “—but in my experience, these beings are generally harmless.”

Kazunari breathes out a sigh of relief, and Shintarou grumbles something next to him, sounding suspiciously like “ _absolute garbage.”_ He carries off into irritated silence when Kazunari not-so-gently grinds his heel into his foot.

“What about the flickering lights? And the noises?” Kazunari asks, looking up at the middle light fixture that wavers at that exact moment. The medium nods, looking thoughtful.

“Shadow people are spirits that tend to only be tangible by sight. If you are experiencing things of that nature as well, my best guess would have to be…” she trails off, and Kazunari is getting a little sick of the dramatic pauses, “…old pipes. And poor electric wiring.”

“Oh,” Kazunari says dumbly, looking up at Shintarou. He’s making the most horrifically smug face Kazunari has ever seen, and he curls his lip, physically reaches up to mash his palm across Shintarou's self-satisfied expression, hoping to smear it right off. Shintarou grunts, his breath clouding hot on Kazunari's palm, and he snatches his wrist away with a glare of his own. Kazunari pokes his tongue up at him before turning again to the medium, gesturing up at the man by his side as he does. “Then how come Shin-chan never hears anything at his place? We live in the same building.”

She titters at him. “Sweetie, that's beyond my field of knowledge. I'm a medium. I don’t know how things like that work.”

He nods dejectedly. “Okay. Right." 

She shuffles over to Kazunari’s kitchen table, scooping up her purse and securing it over her shoulder. “I recommend two things. One: alter the environment in some way. Move the furniture around, especially if the apartment was already furnished when you got here. If that doesn’t work, my second piece of advice is to ask the spirits to leave.”

He furrows his brows. “Really? Just ask? And it’ll work?”

She smiles a little sadly. “My dear, spirits were once people too. And most people are at least somewhat reasonable. Just be polite and take the time to explain your reasoning.”

Kazunari and Shintarou step aside for her as she floats over to the door to slip her sandals onto her feet. She looks back at them, shrugging. “Besides that, there’s nothing you can do about the noises and lighting except maybe moving. And I’m guessing that’s not an option if you haven’t already done so by now.”

He shakes his head, so fast it’s kind of embarrassing, and Shintarou clears his throat in what may have been a cover-up for a laugh. 

She smiles at him. “Call me if you encounter any problems.”

And then the door is swinging shut behind her, the heavy metal making a resounding _clunk,_ and Kazunari sighs. “Well, that kind of sucks. The noises were the part that bugged me the most. And it looks like they’re not gonna go away any time soon.” He frowns, thinking about the dull thumps in the walls as he tries to sleep, startling him awake in the middle of the night. It’ll be great having the creepy shadows gone too, but that’s all they are - just shadows, and _they_ never kept him from a good night’s sleep. Well, besides from when the thought of them watching unseen from some corner of the room kept him awake, but that's different. 

Shintarou shifts his weight onto his other leg, crosses his arms, then uncrosses them. He adjusts his glasses. “My apartment does not experience loud noises.”

“Yeah, yeah. Rub it in a little more why don’t you?” Kazunari grumbles, walks over to the sink to try and get the cold water running - now that it's summer, the crappy pipes always take nearly a solid minute for the water to chill, and what he needs right now is a good, brisk splash in the face to rid him of the sweat that had begun condensing on his forehead. 

Shintarou sighs, and Kazunari looks at him over his shoulder, his fingers testing the temperature of the water running from the faucet. “That is not…well. What I was inferring, was that perhaps you should consider—“ he stops abruptly, then takes a breath to continue. “You spend a lot of time at my apartment.”

Kazunari slams the tap off, spinning around in dismay. “Because I can’t sleep when I’m here! Come on, Shin-chan, have a heart! You don’t mind me sleeping over, right?” He doesn’t give Shintarou a chance to reply before he’s barreling on, waving his hands desperately. “Your bed is so comfortable! You really wanna take one of the few joys in my life away from me?” he wails, taking the few necessary steps forward and pressing Shintarou up against his kitchen counter.

During the four months he and Shintarou have been dating, he’s gotten good at making sure Shintarou gives him what he wants, one way or another. It didn’t take long before he knew every single one of his buttons and the exact way to push them - conveniently, Shintarou happens to find kitchen sex particularly exciting, something Kazunari uses to his advantage as often as possible. 

As expected, Shintarou blushes, his heart palpitating underneath Kazunari’s palm, and the perpetrator struggles not to grin. He clears his throat. “I would not dare take away your bed privileges, Takao.”

Kazunari frowns, confused. He drops his hands, takes a step back. “Then I don’t get what you’re saying.”

He looks…uncomfortable. Well, not like that’s anything new, but it doesn’t feel right for the situation. He shifts his weight again. Arms crossed, uncrossed. Glasses. “From a financial point of few, it is inefficient to be paying for rent each month when you spend such a large portion of your time at my apartment. I...erm." Cough. "Well, that is, I propose that you r... " Deep breath. "That you renounce this place to take up permanent residence in mine.”

Kazunari just stares at him, the words slowly sinking in, his eyes widening hugely as they do. Shintarou flushes even more, rushing his words out, nearly stumbling over them. “What I am saying is, not only does my apartment not experience any issues—of the sound variety or otherwise—but moving would also most likely put your mind more at ease. You would be paying half the rent you are now, and you would be able to save any extra funds for future use.” He swallows nervously, tacking on as an afterthought, “And I shall let you sleep in my bed.”

There’s a tense few seconds of silence, the only sound in the room the drumming of two heartbeats and the cicadas outside, and then Kazunari smiles slyly. “You will, huh? Shin-chan, are you asking me to move in with you?”

“I just figured…that is, only if you wanted to—“

Kazunari leans up, presses a kiss to Shintarou’s cheek, and he becomes silent.

“I’d love to,” Kazunari says, grinning so huge his cheeks hurt. “If you’ll have me.”  

Shintarou is still for another moment, and then he lets out a sigh of relief. He tugs Kazunari against his chest, this time of his own accord, and Kazunari wraps his arms around his waist in turn. It really is too hot to be hugging like this, and Kazunari is probably getting Shintarou's shirt additionally sweaty, but it seems as if neither of them could care less. Shintarou bites his lip, buries his nose in Kazunari’s hair to further hide his little smile.

“Obviously.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ANNNND FIN!
> 
> I'M SORRY THIS TOOK FOREVER! I honestly thought I was gonna be good about updating this one since i suck at updating all my other stuff, but nope. i'm still terrible.
> 
> Also, I do realize that current-day mediums don't dress all mystical like that (at least, not the ones i've seen on TV) so don't yell at me haha
> 
> for all intents and purposes, this is done, but i think i may have an extra side-story of them together someday. I feel like i left some loose ends, like "why does Shintarou live in those apartments? doesn't he make a lot of moola? how big is his collection EXACTLY?" haha idk if i do it wouldn't be for awhile, since i wanna explore other pairings in the future. 
> 
> anyways, i had a LOT of fun writing them together, and i really hope you were able to get some enjoyment out of reading this! everyone that left kudos or commented or just kinda looked on from the shadows - thank you, thank you, thank you! you are all sooo so so sweet and reading what you have to say makes my day! if you feel like it, come talk to me on tumblr, smileyeeyore.tumblr.com! 
> 
> and i don't think i mentioned this in the first chapter notes, but i titled this baby after a song by Said the Whale, obviously called "The Light Is You", and it's the cutest song in the whole world so go listen to it! actually, here, I'll link it: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1Sa_t-qRTaE
> 
> "and it's so dark, I can't see the light. well i close my eyes, and i think of you."


End file.
